


It's Just Soap

by ZeroNoctem



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Gen, Independence -fantasy hands-, POV Jean, Soap, creepin on the soap
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-19
Updated: 2016-05-19
Packaged: 2018-06-09 10:18:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6901891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZeroNoctem/pseuds/ZeroNoctem
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This was from a prompt that I reblogged on tumblr. ‘It’s only been a week since I left my parent(s)/guardian(s) house and I’m standing in the store at two in the morning, trying to remember what brand of soap we used.’</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's Just Soap

I’ve been in his new apartment for a week. Seven days of stress and fumbling attempts at things I’ve - shamefully - never had to do before. At the age of twenty six I’m only just learning how to be independent, my coddling mother is very much loved but also the reason I have no idea what the fuck I’m doing. Boxes still litter most of the rooms and the furniture I possessed is sparse and meagre and mostly second hand. It’s not like I’ve ever been bad off, not at  _ all _ . But I’ve lived off of my mother’s money for long enough and it doesn’t sit well with me to continue doing so.  

I’ve been working my ass off in various jobs back home since before I even left high school. I guess that was my only redeemable feature amongst being somewhat of a social recluse and rather prickly at any hint of being made fun of. When I was sixteen I started doing odd jobs around the neighbourhood, mowing lawns, trimming hedges, dog walking you know that sort of thing. When I was eighteen I started doing take out deliveries on top of the odd jobs around the neighbourhood to add a bit more to my savings each week. I didn’t spend a dime of it - I really didn’t have want of anything with my mom spoiling me - all of it went into a jar, and then a shoebox before I finally got my own savings account. 

I’ve had various jobs over the years since then, usually more than one at a time much to my mother's disapproval. Not because she didn’t want me to work, but because she thought five hours sleep a night and seven days a week working was too much. She was right, of course, but I kept at it until now anyway. The payoff is that I now own my own apartment, I don’t rent I actually have something that is  _ mine _ . I’ll admit though, because of that my social life and health have suffered. I have neither friends  - close ones anyway - nor lovers… the latter I have  _ never _ had but let’s keep that between us. I suffer with pretty bad insomnia now, too. You know the kind where your brain just wont shut up and you’re always fuckin’ tired?

That’s probably why I’m standing in this 24 hour grocery store at 2am, staring at all the shelves of shower gel and soaps and trying to remember what the hell brand my mother used to buy. Why? Because I’m homesick as hell. Call me whatever you want, that doesn’t change the fact I miss having my mom around the house, the way the sheets smelled of a laundry detergent I still haven’t identified or the sound of her tinkering around the kitchen. She loves baking, cooks treats and cakes for parties and events from home so the house always smells so good. 

Sighing, I wonder if I should just swallow my pride and call her tomorrow, just ask outright what brand it was. But a part of me is still resistant to the idea of leaning on her again, at least so soon. I want to do this on my own, I’ve been struggling for it for so long and now is the time. I peer at a neon green ‘Lime’ shower gel that - when I pop the cap with a guilty look over my shoulder - smells nothing like a fucking lime. I browse some more, eyes scanning the products and I end up sort of crouching down because all the bar soaps are - for some reason - on the lower shelves.

Then I see a familiar bar and pick it up. Wrapped in clear cellophane with a small card insert at the back telling you what it’s made of, the front side embossed with some kind of vines and the words ‘Soap & Glory’. It’s pink and smells of melon and I love it ok? I hold it like something sacred before feeling like a bit of a creep and stand up again after putting three more in my basket. The sales clerk doesn’t comment as she scans them and I pay, but her light brown eyes twinkle with amusement as she grins at me and says ‘Enjoy’ when I turn to leave. 

I don’t think I’ve ever blushed so hard in a store before, ever, and I still don’t quite know  _ why _ I did. It’s just soap.


End file.
